


Experience

by liadan14



Series: Sexual Mores in Erebor (Fills from the Hobbit Kink Meme) [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom!Thorin, First Time, Incest, M/M, PWP but with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 04:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liadan14/pseuds/liadan14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the prompt "Kili had quite a chance to fuck around in his youth and have lots of casual sex, so he's pretty experienced. Thorin never had a chance and is still a virgin. Kili doesn't find this out until he gets Thorin in bed."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Experience

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a kinkmeme prompt, as seen in the summary. Apparently I can't write porn without feelings anymore.

It’s not that Kíli is amoral or anything, it’s more that he is clever, good-looking and has had more than enough time to perfect the art of getting what he wants. Particularly when it comes to luring people into his bed. He’s a non-discriminatory dwarf, and he likes a good lay as much as, or even more than, then next bloke.

That is not to say, as has been said, by Fíli, that there is no room for anything else in his head, or his trousers. He wouldn’t have partaken in the quest for Erebor if he didn’t hold his loyalty to his family and his role as a prince seriously enough to risk his life for it. After all, as nice as the life hereafter sounds when Balin speaks of it, there never seems to be much ale or sex in it, two of Kíli’s favorite things.

So clearly, Kíli is a good, upstanding dwarf who just happens to enjoy a good time with other dwarves, or dwarrowdams, or humans, or hobbits, or that one time, several of the above at once. This has nothing at all to do with his inconvenient and insurmountable attraction to his uncle. It’s not a sin among dwarves as it is among men; still, Thorin is King and leaving the siring of heirs entirely to Fíli doesn’t quite seem fair, though his preferences run strongly towards the female sex, unlike Kíli, who is happy as a pig in mud with either gender.

Generally, though, people like Thorin are not at all Kíli’s type. It’s not his age, or their relation, it’s Thorin’s inability to have fun. It’s the weight of the world, perpetually resting on Thorin’s shoulders. Kíli likes his sex life uncomplicated and entertaining, but he can’t seem to eradicate the image of grim line of Thorin’s mouth melting into a moan as he pushes inside Kíli.

It’s a problem.

Especially after Erebor is retaken, after Thorin’s madness subsides – and you would think that if anything could halt Kíli’s attraction immediately, it would be Thorin’s gold lust and insanity, but for some reason, despite how thoroughly miserable it made Kíli feel, once it all subsided the idea of that kind of passion focused on Kíli became unreasonably interesting.

Anyhow, Erebor is retaken, the madness is eradicated, and the celebrations have begun. The celebrations involve a large quantity of freely flowing alcohol, which means Thorin, loose and relaxed as he ever gets, laughing as he fills up his tankard, his hair rippling as his shoulders shake.

Thorin is rubbish at hiding his feelings at the best of times; Kíli has caught the way he stares, hungry, at the line of Kíli’s legs and the cord of his muscles when he draws his bow. Has listened to Thorin’s increasingly ridiculous reasons to brush through Kíli’s hair – “I thought I saw a burr” indeed, when neither of them had left the mountain in over a week, let alone ventured to the forest. And still, despite however much Kíli twists his hips, bends over to tie his boots, leans into Thorin’s personal space, nothing has happened, which Kíli finds deeply frustrating. How much more obvious could he possibly get, short of humping Thorin’s leg?

He can’t exactly go up to Thorin and just ask for a fuck. Firstly, his interest in Thorin is so baffling even to himself that he doesn’t know how to ask, and secondly, he wants a lot more than a fuck, he wants to make Thorin smile, all the time, until his face hurts. He wants to wake up next to Thorin, and help him with all the stupid matters of state Kíli can barely even hear mentioned without falling asleep. He wants, in a word, to be Thorin’s lover and to see him happy.

Of course, Fíli thinks it’s hilarious. He would, from his vantage point as an older brother who has never had to face the startling realization of how absolutely beautiful the men in their family are. Who has also never seen his younger brother actually in love with someone.

Kíli pulls at the ceremonial tunic he’s wearing, it’s stiffer than he’s used to, and the sight of Thorin, smiling, joyful, gorgeous, is more than a little constricting, because Kíli _can’t have him._

Then again, he’s been here hours, it’s alright for him to step outside, onto one of Erebor’s sweeping balconies, to stare out at the black and blue shadings of the night sky over the vastness of land now to Kíli’s feet. He leans over the railing, sighing into the breeze through his hair. No matter how Thorin tries, he still prefers not to wear braids, though he has one, now, to mark his status as a hero of Erebor, tied off with a bead that marks him as one of the Line of Durin. Thorin braided it in himself, after clasping back the parts that would hang in Kíli’s face. His fingers are big and blunt, but Kíli knows how gentle they can be, and he _aches_ for them.

“Are you alright?”

Kíli starts at the sound of Thorin’s voice, and turns to see the object of his thoughts standing in the doorway, cheeks uncharacteristically flushed with alcohol and merriment, back still ramrod regal and straight.

“Fine, fine, just needed some air,” he responds, hoping his face doesn’t betray the depths of his desire for his uncle. Kíli is a poor diplomat in that regard, though nowhere near as poor as Thorin.

Thorin smiles, just a little, and steps forward to stand beside Kíli. “I never thought you the type to need rest from company.”

There’s just a little space between where their arms rest against the balustrade, not even a hair’s breadth, because Kíli can just barely feel the electric shock of the way the hairs on Thorin’s arm brush against him. Merciful Mahal, he has never been quite this pathetic before. “How d’you mean?” he asks.

Thorin shrugs, hair spilling forward down his shoulders. “I’ve often envied your easy ways with company, your joviality. And…well, I’ve heard stories.”

Kíli’s exhale paints smoky white over the dark blue of the distant mountains. “Stories,” he repeats.

“Stories,” Thorin says. “I know…that is to say, I’ve heard you’re…popular, and, well…”

Slowly, Kíli begins to curse his own proclivities for loose and easy sex, if it makes Thorin this uncomfortable. “I never meant to make you or, or anyone, really, ashamed of me,” he says.

A rough sort of noise escapes Thorins throat, and he grabs Kíli harshly by the shoulder. “I could never be ashamed of you. Never, you hear me?”

“Uh-huh,” makes its way out of Kíli’s throat, strangled by the sudden press of Thorin against him, more physical contact than they’ve had in what must be years.

“What I meant to say, I mean to say, is that, well…I…I’d wondered, and you…” Thorin trails off, unreadable in the near-darkness on the balcony, suddenly stony. The silence between them is overtaken by a sudden cheer from inside and Kíli can no longer stop himself.

He leans across – for all he is much slighter, he and Thorin are of a height by now – and presses his lips to Thorins, because he has to try, at least once, if he is going to be tormented thus by Thorin’s vulnerability.

It’s good, as first kisses go. Kíli is accustomed to situations in which a kiss is expected, inevitable, in which sex is an expectation after an evening of drinking and flirting. This is not at all like that, but Thorin’s mouth is soft all the same, he gives in a way Kíli had not expected, lets Kíli kiss him and slide his arms round Thorin’s waist until their noses bump together and they part on a laugh.

“Yes,” Thorin says, his voice low and somehow shy. “That’s what I meant to say.”

Kíli smiles, still close enough he can feel Thorin’s cheek against his. “Well then,” he says, “may I invite you to repeat it as often as you please?”

Thorin’s answer is another kiss, and another, and before long, Kíli has learned the feel of Thorin’s hair through his fingers and the firm grasp of Thorin’s arms around him. They part for air at some point, and Kíli for some strange reason feels a need to say, “I knew your hair would be soft. I couldn’t bear to touch it, I thought – “

“Couldn’t stop myself touching yours,” Thorin tells him, and Gods above, his _voice,_ “I thought it was as close as I’d get.”

“ _Thorin,_ ” Kíli says, and relishes Thorin’s shudder.

Their foreheads thunk together softly, and Kíli’s eyes slide shut all of their own accord. “I don’t want to go back to the party,” he says, a little petulant, a little possessive.

Thorin chuckles warmly, spreading a deep-seated joy in Kíli’s belly. “Nor I,” he admits. Then, after a pause, “there is a shortcut. To, to my rooms. If you’d like.”

With a little tug at one of Thorin’s braids, Kíli says, “Oh, I’d like.”

“I,” Thorin begins, then stops. He pulls away a little, letting cold air into the space between their bodies. “Follow me.”

Kíli does, follows him up a tiny flight of stairs and down the winding corridors of Erebor until they find themselves in the firelit warmth of Thorin’s personal chambers. Kíli’s seen it before, of course, but never like this, never with Thorin, cheeks still flushed, touchable beside him. It’s all he can do to wait until the door is closed behind them to kiss again, deeply and thoroughly. He wants to know everything, that Thorin kisses soft, but sometimes likes to bite at Kíli’s lower lip. That his hands can’t seem to settle, but move restlessly around Kíli’s back, never straying too far. That he lets out an utterly delightful squeak when Kíli sneaks a handful of his arse.

He’s a little wild-eyed when next Kíli pulls far enough away to think clearly. His chest is heaving a little, and his cheeks are still stained pink. As delectable as he looks, it is not entirely congruent with how Thorin normally is.

“Are you alright?” Kíli asks.

“I,” Thorin says. “Oh…Kíli.”

“Yes,” Kíli says, hoping he sounds kind and supportive and not confused.

“Look, what I was getting at before was that, well, I know you’re…ah, experienced.”

Kíli nods, not entirely sure where this is going.

“Well, I. Ah, the reason I had not, er, pursued this before was that, well, I’m not. Experienced, that is.”

Oh. So that’s what all the stuttering was about. And the blushing. “Thorin,” Kíli says, slowly, because he can’t get this wrong. “My love. You must know I don’t…I couldn’t care less if you had been with all of Middle Earth, or no one at all. I’m not – I may have been, well, open with my affections in Ered Luin, but only before I realized you…you’re it for me.”

Thorin’s eyes close, just for a second. “You mean that,” he says, almost incredulous.

“Of course I do,” Kíli says. “Do…I, I mean, if it’s not the same– “

“No,” Thorin says, firmly. “It’s the same for me, Mahal, when I realized how much I – well, anyway. About that. The…no one at all…”

He trails off, rubbing at the back of his neck, eyes not meeting Kíli’s.

Kíli gasps when he realizes.

“Truly,” he says, “never?”

“There was never occasion,” Thorin says, perhaps a little pompously. “There were always…duties, and then I was King and a King can’t just – “

Kíli grabs for Thorin’s hand. “I understand,” he says. “I just wish…”

“You wish for a more talented lover,” Thorin says looking away.

“No,” Kíli says firmly. “I wish there had been someone before me, to make you happy. I wish you had not had to be alone through everything you have suffered, and do not tell me you haven’t. I wish you had had the chance to be loved, but now I’m here, rest assured I will take that duty very seriously indeed.”

Thorin’s lips twitch, and then, gloriously, he is smiling shyly at Kíli.

  
“Now,” Kíli says, “Do you believe me that I could not care less you are a virgin?”

Thorin frowns at the choice of words, but nods readily enough.

After that, it is far easier to divest Thorin of his clothes, his heavy ceremonial robes and his belts and weapons. Thorin does the same, his fingers slower and heavier on Kíli’s various clasps and buckles, but eventually, they are both naked. And heavens, in the privacy of Kíli’s mind he can acknowledge what a sin it is no one has taken the time to appreciate Thorin like this before, open and so very lovely.

Taking Thorin by the hand, Kíli pulls him towards the bed, and then climbs astride him once he is situated comfortably, relishing Thorin’s gasp of surprise. Why exactly he was worried about whether or not bedding Thorin would be fun is beyond Kíli; he has never had so much fun in his life as teasing out doing what to Thorin’s body will create which noise. Distantly, Kíli knows his fear was more the level of commitment he knew was involved in his attachment to Thorin, but now, with it so wonderfully returned, with Thorin between his thighs, looking up at him like he hung the moon, that fear is years behind him.

Thorin’s neck is sensitive, and Kíli delights in sucking marks into the base and running his fingers behind Thorin’s ears, almost relishing the fact that he is the first to do this. The only. His nipples are even more sensitive, and Thorin chokes on a cry as Kíli suckles at them.

“Please tell me you have oil somewhere here,” Kíli says after that particular noise. It’s not that there aren’t other things they can do, but he has an animal need to stake a claim right now.

“On the cabinet,” Thorin says with yet another blush.

Kíli scrambles to retrieve it, and is about to pounce back on top of Thorin, stretch himself open and ride his uncle into oblivion when Thorin stretches his legs out to allow Kíli between them.

Kíli’s mouth dries up so completely it takes him several tries to get out the words. “You…you’re sure? I was going to…have you take me.”

Thorin groans, just a little, at the thought. “Yes,” he says. “I’m sure. I want that, next time, but…I…I would not last, and I would not know what to do. Besides, I want you inside.”

Just for that, Kíli leans down and swallows Thorin whole, because he can, because he’s good at it, and because it makes Thorin yell hoarsely.

Thorin tugs at his hair sharply when he gets too close – and that, too, feels good – and garbles something along the lines of “please stop please, need – fuck me.”

It’s fairly possible Thorin is not the only one who won’t last.

Kíli slicks up his fingers and sets about preparing Thorin, slow and methodical, to Thorin’s eternal frustration. His hips are twitching against thin air, the head of his lovely cock drooling against his belly, sticking in the hair there. Once Thorin is stretched enough for Kíli’s fingers to go deep enough to find that spot, Thorin absolutely writhes, a long sinuous motion against the blue of his sheets that has Kíli grasping at his own cock.

“Please,” Thorin says. “Please, Kíli.”

Kíli is not as strong as all that. He’s slicked up and pushing into Thorin in no time at all, though he keeps his movements slow and even with an incredible effort even as Thorin’s head tosses against the pillows.

After what seems an eternity of waiting, Thorin’s fists unclench in the sheets and his hips rock up hesitantly towards Kíli’s. Kíli takes this as a go-ahead to begin moving, slowly, carefully.

It takes some time to find the right angle, though when he does, Thorin moves from nonsense into an utter loss of verbal function, grunting out every time Kíli moves in until eventually his strong legs clasp around the base of Kíli’s thighs and _force_ him to go faster, faster, until Thorin is slamming his hips down into Kíli’s and yowling like a cat in heat.

After that, it doesn’t take much longer, thankfully, until Thorin’s neck is bared as he yells out his orgasm, spurting all the way up to his collarbone. The clench of his body around Kíli is more than enough to send him spiraling so deeply he loses a little time.

When he is next able to think, he is resting his forehead against Thorin’s shoulder. They both groan as he pulls out of Thorin and collapses, still atop one of Thorin’s splayed legs.

Thorin turns so they can kiss, slow and deep and everything Kíli never quite acknowledged he needed.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his own voice hoarse. He must have yelled, he thinks, at some point.

“Never been better,” Thorin answers, and that is how they fall asleep, next to each other and wrapped up together.

When they wake up in the morning, they are sticky with dried semen, mouths sour from a night of ale, and their hair is knotted all over, but it doesn’t stop them from a second round, Thorin on top this time, lazy and deep inside Kíli. This time, they are kissing when they come, and Kíli doesn’t think anything could surpass that moment, safe and ecstatic in Thorin’s arms.

(That is before Fíli comes in to wake Thorin in time for breakfast, and immediately runs away again, yelling “My eyes, my nose! Mahal above, open a window in there!”)


End file.
